In Which The People Fight
by blondelalonde
Summary: Your name is JOHN EGBERT an you don't know if your dead or alive anymore. It has been a year, four months, seven days, and thirteen hours since it started. By it, you mean the zombie apocalypse. Yeah. Zombies. -Zombie AU! This is my first Homestuck fanfiction, so PLEASE be kind! Read and Review!- POV switches from time to time. No official ships just yet.
1. Chapter 1

**Whoa is this a homestuck fanfiction? Wowie gurl stepping away from anime? Good job u lil ass.**

**Anyway this is my first homestuck fanfiction and I would really love reviews and feedback and shit so pleeeeeaaasseeee review**

**xoxo**

_Your name is JOHN EGBERT an you don't know if your dead or alive anymore. It has been a year, four months, seven days, and thirteen hours since it started. By it, you mean the zombie apocalypse. _

_Yeah. Zombies. _

You truly don't know how you have survived this long, but hell, you're not complaining. You really should be though. Who in Gods name would want to live in this hell? You, of course.

It has taken you a year to get there, but you're finally in Texas. Your best bro lives th- used to live there.

There is no way that shades wearing idiot could survive long with those shitty swords, you think.

But you don't care.

You think that it would be nice to pay your respects to your best bro.

You carefully, and quietly, walk the streets of the deserted city that you are currently in. Austin, you guess.

Austin is completely in ruins. It is impossible for someone to stay in this shit hole. You slowly walk up to an apartment building. It's rather high. Taller than all of the homes in your once neighborhood.

Once inside, you put up your guard. Taking your TRUSTY HAMMER from the belt loop of your worn khaki shorts, you make you make your way into the stair well, walking up slowly.

This is... odd, you think. This was once a very large city. Why isn't there a large population? Population of the dead... of course.

You have only seen one or two of those things since you have arrived in this town. But you stayed away. You learned to hide, and not fight.

Some may call you a wuss, but you're really just smart.

You laugh at my stupid remark. Who would be alive to call you that mean name?

In your mind, you're the last man alive.

You cough very quietly. Your health hasn't been very good for a few weeks. You think that you're probably going to die soon. You glare at me because you know that I think that too.

No one could survive a small cold in this time without the proper medical care that you aren't so desperate to find.

You have no idea why, but you're okay with death. You welcome it, even. You guess that being around MOVING DEAD BODIES for a whole year, is enough for anyone to want to die.

You soon hear shuffling and are taken away from your thoughts. Your grip on the handle of your hammer tightens in slight fright. Your out in the open with no where to hide.

It sounds cliche but its true.

You sigh, it coming out as more of a grunt of frustration.

Time to fight.

Maybe this time you'll die and won't have to live in this shit world.

The world where the dead has risen.

You stand in front of the Strider residence, your bucked teeth chewing slightly at your lower lip. Should you go in? You ask yourself, uncertain of what you might see. Taking a deep breath, you reach for the handle, grasping it gently as you turn it, opening the door to your best bros apartment.

Your blue orbs widen behind your thick rimmed glasses, gasping at the sight of the home. It shouldn't even be considered a home now. Theres...There is BLOOD everywhere.

And.. is that a dead body?

Oh my god it is a dead body.

You see triangle shades laying on the floor next do it and your knees fall weak and you collapse where you stand, leaning against the door for support. It's Dave's Bro. Dead on the kitchen floor. Somehow the body was preserved.

You remember Dave talking about his Bro all the GODDAMNED time. Like, seriously. You also remember him describing his Bro to always be wearing these "dorky triangle anime shades" all the time.

You rub your temples. Your head is starting to hurt again. Maybe coming down here wasn't such a good idea.

You suddenly hear shuffling and stand almost too quickly, grip tightening on your hammer.

What the hell is that? You ask yourself, seeing a figure in the shadows.

You groan to yourself. Goddamn it all. It's one of those THINGS. But how in gods name did it make it all the way up here? You dismiss that thought and move close to the door, hoping that the undead being doesn't see you.

You don't think that you have enough energy to kill something now. This sickness is really taking a toll on you. You're most positive that you have a high fever.

The moving figure comes out of the shadows and your heart skips about four or five beats. Your breath is stuck in your throat so you have no way to gasp in surprise, or even fear. Cause you KNOW thats what you're feeling right now.

Your TRUSTY HAMMER slips out of your hand and falls to the bloody carpet with a quiet thump.

Your lip quavers slightly as you see the bloody, and ragged looking figure and you utter out one single word that you haven't said aloud in so long.

"D-Dave?"

There you go again. You feel yourself sinking to the floor and your eyes are getting heavy. You KNEW that this would happen. You KNEW that you had a fever. And you KNEW that you wouldn't survive.

Your name is DAVE STRIDER and you are very much alive.

You left the clean-ness and safety of your locked up room when you heard shuffling in your home. At first you thought it was another one of those fucking zombies but no.

"Holy shit..." Was all you could muster up.

It was your fucking best friend.

That you thought died along with every other fucktruck on the earth.

But NO. He was there. And he just fainted, just like the little pussy he was.

Wait a minute... you think, examining his unnaturally pale face from a distance. You remember when you used to skype, that he was naturally tan. Why is he so...ghostly? Your ruby red eyes travel closer to his face and you see why.

His cheeks are flushed and he had been obviously sweating.

That damned bastard was running a fever.

Damn it all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Whoa guys this one got popular quick! **

**A lot of people reviewed and omg thank you! **

**As for shipping, to the person who suggested, great idea! That'll be the main ship then. Just don't tell anyone else wink wonk. That way it would be a surprise! **

**Anyway, read and review guys! Thanks!**

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You are still the cool kid with the shades.

But you kind of lost your cool the second you saw your best friend collapse in front of you.

In any other place or time you would have kept that Strider cool, but, hey, guess what?

IT'S THE FUCKING ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE.

You glare down at the body, still keeping your distance. Once you see that he is in fact breathing still, you gather and sliver of courage you have left and move closer.

Hesitantly, of course.

Wouldn't want to get bitten and die if that sucker changed out of the blue, would ya?

Maybe you would. I don't know.

He is obviously sick. Probably has some sort of cold, or infection. For a second, you feel bad for your friend, then you remember that you're basically in the same situation.

It's the apocalypse, remember?

Fucktard.

You poke him a few times with the holy of your shitty katana, just for good measure.

"Damn." You comment under your breath, your more matured voice rumbled out of your throat. In a quiet manner of course. "He's out cold."

He is indeed out cold.

You carefully pick him up, along with his trusty hammer. He doesn't weigh much, you notice. You guess that he probably doesn't eat a lot, or hasn't in a long time. You can almost feel his ribs through his very dirty and slightly ripped green slime ghost shirt.

With a great sigh, you bring him over to your room, or the place that used to be your room.

It has been transformed into a safe house basically.

There are barricades on the doors, supplies stacked up in the corners of the room, and just everything that a guy would need in a zombie invasion.

Weapons.

But these weren't any weapons.

These were Strider weapons. Making them shitty as FUCK.

You lay your best bro onto the cot that resides in that room. His chest heaves up and lowers slowly as he breathed. At least he was breathing.

For now anyway.

As soon as he is laying on the cot, you get right to work.

Sparring with Bro once upon a time didn't just result in physical strength. Mental strength came with it. You learned to treat your own wounds, you learned fighting strategy that would aid you in not getting your ass kicked.

You even learned some common sense.

But right now wasn't the time to think about your dead brother, when you have someone here that could be dead soon if you don't focus.

You now kneel down beside the cot with a small box in your hand. It looks like a first aid box. This isn't just any first aid box, this is an awesome as fuck first aid box.

It has a lot more shit then any normal box of aid.

You flick it open and your hands absently roam the contents. You don't even have to look down to find what your hands are looking for. You smirk slightly when you fingertips brush over the bottle that you were looking for.

You take it out and examine it.

The bottle is only some normal cold medicine, a gold mine in these times. You are so fucking lucky that you had this shit from so long ago.

You take out a syringe next and your ruby reds narrow behind your dark shades as you estimate how much to give Egderp.

You finally decide and the medicine goes in the syringe. It isn't long before you find yourself looking for a vein, and succeeding, to put this shit in.

You are actually quite lucky. It would have taken ages to find a vein with his normal tan skin, now that he is quite sick and ghostly pale, it's easier.

Now it's just time to wait.

With your back leaning against the side of the cot, you find yourself slowly drifting off. You don't even bother putting away your beloved medical kit.

Man. Who knew finding a friend you haven't seen in a year could be this exhausting?

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You are suddenly a rather energetic young girl. By young, you are about 16? As are most of the people in this story.

And by energetic, you are currently pounding some skulls in.

Literally.

Your name is Jade Harley and you are one bad ass girl if you do say so yourself.

And you do.

You have been fighting these things for over a year now. Actually, it was less than that.

You remember being on your island all alone, until the military came. When those helicopters came landing on your front door step, you were terrified, and excited for the adventure to come.

They told you of the terrible things that were happening, that the dead were rising.

They said that you needed to go with them to safety immediately. Reluctantly, you agreed.

That was your first mistake.

About an hour into the flight, you were just over Mexico, you think, and the fucking helicopter crashed. Yeah. It FUCKING CRASHED. You, somehow, survived with only some damage. Damage meaning a broken arm, a few broken ribs, and a white scar that goes across your face, marking up your very tan Hawaiian skinto this day.

If someone weren't there to help you, you would have died. And someone was there.

It was just a small pale boy in a wheelchair that found you. He somehow took you back to the safety of his home and cared to your injuries, and befriended you.

He is now your best friend. This boys name is Tavros. He never told you his last name, and you never asked about it.

Now that you have healed fully, you are back out on the roads, killing those sons of bitches that plagued this beautiful world.

Of course, Tavros is along for the ride. Even though its tough to get around with him, you swore to protect him. He saved you, you save him.

It's kind of like law.

Okay not really but still. You are basically the leader of your whole group.

Well there was once a group.

There were two more of you before. Equius and Nepeta. They separated from you about three months back. And boy do you hope they are okay.

Now you are focusing on your attackers again. Those fucking zombies.

Your companion is next to you, his brown moe hawk just coming up to your shoulder when he was sitting in his chair.

He is wildly swinging around this huge ass stick that you suddenly forgot what it had been called. You, on the other hand, are using the hilt of your beloved rifle to bash heads in, as mentioned before. Well normally, some would ask, 'Why aren't you shooting them?"

Well moron, you obviously don't want to bring more near you, so you use the hilt of your gun.

Which you are currently doing now.

You pull back, and in one quick swing, bash the last head in.

Those fucking things.

Oh how you hate them so.

"Hey!" Tavros's voice finally came to your ears, snapping you away from staring into the distance, something that you like to do.

"I was gonna get that one!"

You laugh, a nice, heart filled laugh.

It was nice to have someone to joke around with. But you still wish that there was more than one. You really do miss Nepeta and Equius. You remember the cat loving girl talking about her sister, and always saying that she was alive.

You think thats why she and Equius left. To find Nepeta's sister. But it's okay. That's what you would do if you had a sibling too.

You look down to ask your companion where you should go next, but you aren't you anymore.

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You are suddenly the dorky boy again, and you are scared as fuck.


	3. Chapter 3

**aaaaaahhhh! more people are reviewing!1! eeeeee**

**anyway thanks! it would be awesome if you keep it up! **

**Anyway here is chapter three~**

Your name is John Egbert and you are scared as fuck.

Not only are you scared, but you're dazed as well.

'What the hell happened?' You think silently, looking around the room with blurry vision. It seems that someone has taken your glasses off.

Wait a minute.

NO FUCKING WAY.

Strider... He can't be alive. Can he? You mean.. The idiot couldn't survive long with those shitty fake swords, AND while he was all alone.

You stop bashing on your best bro's weapon choice when you hear some sort of shuffling and look down quickly. There, at the end of the cot bed thing that you had been resting on, was the beginnings of a shaggy head of blonde hair that desperately needed to be cut.

You sit up slowly, careful not to disturb him, if you hadn't when you jolted awake just moments ago of course.

You couldn't really tell if he was awake or not, with him wearing those stupid aviator sunglasses that you gave him when you were kids. But you try not to think of the times when things were normal, so you focus on something else quickly.

You look around the room once more, and quickly find the outline of your glasses on the side table next to your cot.

You start to reach for them but just as soon as your fingers brush the rim of them, you hear a deep chuckle.

"Oh yeah. I forgot that you couldn't see shit without your glasses. My bad."

You look down to Strider again, this time, with your geeky glasses on.

Before you know it your eyes start to water and you're reaching down to pull your bro into a hug.

You're not homo, but fuck. You're just really glad to see another human being.

Dave goes stiff under you for a second, obviously surprised at your action, but eventually hugs you back awkwardly.

You could swear that you saw a tear come from under his cool kid shades, but you're gonna let it slide.

"Hey. Uh. Egderp you're kind of crushing me dude."

You let go almost immediately and your face, that has regained most of its natural colour, turns a slight red in embarrassment. "Sorry." You mumble out, wiping a few tears away before you let them streak your face.

Sadly, since your face was covered in dirt and grime, you could see that you shed a tear or two. But fuck it. Who needs dignity when you're like the last person on earth? Certainly not you.

Scratch that.

One of the last people.

You're forgetting your best fucking bro that you just had a heart filled reunion with.

Wow John that's low.

You suddenly realize that you're dizzy and that you have a pounding headache again. Your hand absently goes to your head and you rub your temple, pushing up on your hand for support so you don't fucking faint again.

When Dave sees your action he is up in less than a second, kneeling now in front of you. You could almost see his eyes, looking down at you from the rim of his sunglasses. "What's wrong?"

"My head." You can barely muster out.

Then he's up again, going across the room to a row of cabinets. He opens one and inside are bottles and bottles of pills.

You try to look to see what he is doing but the room is suddenly so bright and you just squeeze your eyes shut.

Dave skims the bottles, pulling out one. He takes about two more out, making sure that the combination would help, and not kill the dude.

After standing there for about another minute or two deciding, Dave shuffles back over to you, or so you assume, and gently takes your hand away from your head.

He places small things in your hand which you assume to be pills. Then he sits something in your lap and you just know what it is by it's weight.

Oh my god.

It's bottled water. Like ACTUAL bottled water.

You throw the pills, which were of different sizes and shapes, into your mouth and you fumble with the bottle cap before basically chugging half of the bottle.

You haven't had clean water in so long. Maybe about 5 or 6 months.

After about three or four minutes you feel like you can open your eyes again, so you do.

The room is still bright, but it doesn't hurt as bad as before.

You look up to see Dave. His naturally pale and freckled face is written with concern and exhaustion.

"It is better?"

"Yeah. A little. What the hell did you give me, Strider?"

Then the mischievous blonde only grins. "Just a little something..."

He turns to put the bottles back where they belong.

"Oh. And dude. Whatever you do, don't, like, take a drug test or anything."

'Well great.' You think, giving Dave a glare. 'The fucker gave me drugs.'

Whatever.

At least it's helping this killer headache.

You decide to stand up.

You try, and very slowly push your legs over the edge of the cot. You then try to stand, and surprisingly succeed on the first try. Go you.

"You should probably rest for a while longer." Dave suggests, leaning against the wall near the door, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched your struggle.

"No. I gotta keep moving. Can't stay in one place for too long."

The blonde smirks again. "Leaving so soon? Can't we at least cuddle?"

You roll your eyes behind your glasses. "You can always come along you know." You look around for your pack, a habit.

You remember that you left it somewhere in the forest where you hid your truck.

"I'm cool with that. As long as you rest for a bit longer." He says in a cool manner. Man, he is always cool.

"Nope." You say, crossing your arms over your chest like a child.

Dave rolls his eyes from behind his shades, but you can't see that. "Fine, asshole. Give me like ten minutes dude. I gotta put some useful shit in a bag."

You nod and sit back down on the cot, already feeling dizzy again. You really don't know how you're gonna make it to your car in this state.

But you don't have time to think about it cause, well look at that! You aren't John anymore!

You're Dave again and you are moving fast, flash stepping from one place to the next in your rather big room. You try to decide on what to bring but first your pull out two large duffle bags- wait. Make that three. Two duffle bags and this large weapons case.

You open one cabinet after the next, just pushing all of your first aid things into one of the bags. And there is A LOT of first aid shit.

You're like that cool male nurse that every hospital has.

The one that all the chicks dig and all the doctors wanna be, even though they make more money than you.

You stop comparing yourself to a most likely dead guy and and focus on the task at hand. Before you know it your first bag is filled with medical supplies such as bandages, ointment, pills, and even some drugs. You never know when you need something like that.

The second duffle bag you fill with your remaining water and food.

You're not gonna lie when you say that you've basically been living on bags of Doritos and whatever else you could find.

The last bag thing, a weapons case as you described it, you soon fill with your least shitty weapons. Some actually good katanas, a shot gun and its ammunition, and just some stupid things that you don't feel like naming.

You also strap a gun to your thigh next to your favorite pocket knife.

You pull the strap of the case over your shoulder and hold the duffle bags in your one hand, your most favorite, not to mention least shitty of all, katana in your right hand. You have to admit you look pretty fuckin bad ass.

You look over to John with a slight smirk.

"Let's do this dude."

He smiles and nods, standing eagerly.

He follows you out the door and down the stairs, not forgetting his hammer of course.

You give John one last glance and he nods, before you open the door to your apartment complex and face what has been waiting for you.

Some motherfuckin zombies of course.

**Wowie! How was that? It's about three in the morning here so I'm gonna give this fan fic a break and focus on my other ones that I will most likely never publish.**

**Review please! thank xoxo**


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